


everything that you are is miles above me (but please don’t leave me)

by mallory



Category: Australian Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, Hopeful Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Post-Relationship, Reader-Insert, Second Chances, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 19:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallory/pseuds/mallory
Summary: “Stay,” Chris whispers.He’d bend over backwards for you, to make time for you. He’s learned his lesson. All the riches and fame mean nothing if he can’t share it with you.





	everything that you are is miles above me (but please don’t leave me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LovelyMelody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyMelody/gifts).



> It’s a weekly thing now! This time Cristal prompted me ‘Out Of My Mind’ by Seth Malvin (the lyrics of which I’ve borrowed for the title).
> 
> You can read my prompt for her [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18449879). It’s so amazing, ft. Sebastian Stan + ‘winterbreak’ by MUNA.

“Stay,” Chris whispers.

The intricate muscles in your back shift and quiver like plains in an earthquake as you work your shirt over your head.

His skin is still tingling from your biting kisses and lusty rasps, his body still throbbing and deliciously sore from the way you moved together, climbing higher until he lost his senses and a whole universe exploded into existence in his mind.

There’s an expansive terrain of blanket between you, and he’d shrink down to two inches tall and traverse over cotton mountains and get lost in plush caves just to get to you. He’d bend over backwards for you, to make time for you. He’s learned his lesson. All the riches and fame mean nothing if he can’t share it with you.

He crawls to the foot of the low platform bed where you’re sat and presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, inhaling your smell like he’s taking a drag of a cigarette. You’re his drug; an intoxicating addiction. When you’re gone, all he thinks about is the next hit; the next time he’ll get the chance to come back so you can take him to another world.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, melting into your warmth. “Stay with me, darl.”

“Hmm.” Your grip on his wrist is firm, but the kiss you press to the inside of his forearm is sweet. You break his embrace and stand, looming over him. And he’s rightfully on his knees, yearning to worship at your feet.

His eyes close blissfully as your hands drive into his hair. His hands reach for you of their own accord, exploring your warm skin. God, to think that just minutes ago you were writhing on top of him like some glorious creature, like he was the only thing that mattered. Your desperate, needy moans made him feel ten feet tall. He’s obsessed with the way you gasped his name as you came apart around him—it almost physically aches at the thought of waiting for the next time he can come back to you.

Soft lips meet his and he sighs into the kiss, fingers twitching where they rest on your hips.

“I’ll order room service,” he murmurs against your lips, “anything you want. _Every_ thing you want.” With the amount of money he’s spending on this suite and the generous tip he promised in exchange for discretion, almost nothing would be impossible.

You pull away to reveal a teasing smile, and tap his nose. “You’re cute.”

“Come on,” he says, and if there’s a note of pleading in his voice, then so be it. This cat and mouse game was fun at first. In a world where the list of things within his reach is growing increasingly possible with a simple flash of his credit card or slip of his name, it feels like you are the one thing that’s becoming more impossible to hold onto. “I’ll only be here until morning.”

In the feeble light of the bedside lamp, you move about the hotel room for your scattered clothes. He feels like those pet store pups in the window display, as he kneels naked on the bed, begging soundlessly for you to look this way and take him home.

“Let’s make the most of it.”

You come back to him and he wraps his arms around you. “I thought we already made the most of it.” You shift suggestively against him, but he doesn’t take the bait. He wants more.

“We can talk, like we used to.” Sharing dreams, insecurities, a future.

Your gaze drifts, and for the first time tonight, there’s a crack in your cool composure. “What’s there to talk about?”

“What if I bought a house here?”

Your stare is sharp as you meet his eyes. “You didn’t.”

“If you stay…” he sings. “We can discuss it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“I like to think of it as _charming_.” He flashes you a winning smile and inviting wink. “ _Another_ thing we can talk about. See? Or you know, I can tell you about that time I dreamed about you.”

“What dream?”

A smirk curls his lips and his hands roam to squeeze your ass. “If you stay I’ll tell you all about it.”

You chuckle and his heart swells.

_There you are, love._

“It’s late,” you murmur and his breath hitches, fingers itching to haul you back into bed and lock your limbs together until it’s impossible for him to walk away ever again. But your hands find his shoulders and you hold him at arm’s length—both physically and emotionally.

You always meet at this hotel, eleven agonising minutes from your place. It’s not lost on him what that means.

“You have an early flight,” you say.

And damn if he didn’t tell you the same thing to brush off your affectionate advances, too impatient for sleep so he could get started on the next exciting project. It’s all he ever thought about; what movie projects would open up more opportunities to work with important people in the industry, what endorsement deals would help him live the lifestyle he craved. He was a young dipstick greedy for celebrity.

Now—well, now he’s still stupid, but—all he thinks about is when he can see you again, how he can win you back and what he can do to help you see just how much he regrets letting you go. All he ever wants is crawling into bed and curling himself around your reassuring body, seeing the love and affection in your eyes as you gaze at him.

He sighs and presses a lingering, teasing kiss to your sweet lips, a hopeless attempt at changing your mind once more. But, like the many times before, you hold your ground. You’re guarded, unwilling to go through the heartbreak he put you through before. But you’re giving him a fair go with these stolen moments; a chance to prove himself—he’s still trying to figure out _how_ he’s supposed to go about doing that.

So, like the many times before, he says, “I’ll walk you to your car.”

As you lounge across the rumpled bed, looking so unfairly tempting, he gets dressed. He moves slower than usual, if only to indulge himself with the dwindling time he has left with you until who knows when.

“I know what you’re doing,” comes your amused voice.

With his jeans halfway up his legs, he glances over his shoulder.

Your eyes are glued to his ass, and it’s like a reflex; he clenches, exaggerating his movements and flexing his muscles. He’s like a goddamned peacock, flaring his goods to lure his mate.

And this? He’s doing and saying things that aren’t on brand just to lap up every morsel of attention you care to throw his way—for fuck’s sake, last week he sent you a rambling text the length of his hand. If his brothers ever got their beady eyes on the cheesy poetry about the beauty of your eyes and the way you make him feel, they would forever mock him.

“Is it working?” he asks, zipping his fly. Because he’d gladly screenshot that text for the world to see if it means he gets to hold your hand and smell you in his things for the rest of his life.

(He can’t remember the last time he’s had to work so hard courting someone he’s interested in. If he could go back in time, to just before he walked away, he’d tell his dumb ass about the hollow victory his life is with a career he’s always wanted and the stolen moments he gets with you three times a year—if he’s lucky.)

You laugh. “You forget that I know every inch of your body.”

“Just say the word and you can have every inch of my heart.”

 _Jesus Christ_. It’s shit like this that makes him sound like such a fucking wanker.

“Chris.” How is it possible that there’s so much crammed into that one word? Hesitance, exhaustion, annoyance. Sadness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, turning to face you. Breath leaves him at the look on your face, the way you did when he’d pushed you away; a quiet pleading, yearning. This is his chance to make things right. “I lov—”

“Don’t.” The softness in your voice almost brings him to his knees. It would’ve been so much better if you spat the words at him. He can work with anger. But the gentle way the word fell from your mouth is one step too close to apathy.

He works his jaw and finishes getting dressed.

You cross paths on his way to the bedside table for the key card and his phone while you head out toward the living area. He meets you at the door and opens it for you, but instead of stepping out, you take his hand. He intertwines your fingers, holding on for dear life as you lead him toward the lift bank.

The lift doors open with a soft ping, revealing a young couple inside.

Chris drops his head to conceal his face, and you both shuffle in. You lean against the hand railing to one side, and not in the mood to chance a fan encounter, he crowds you with his back to them.

You hook a hand around the back of his neck. His stomach tingles, not entirely because of the lift’s decent. He doesn’t even know if the movement was a conscious decision on your part or if instinct drove you into doing it. Either way, he’s grateful for the intimacy it allows him.

He rests his forehead against your head, closing his eyes as your shampoo fills his lungs.

Your hands press against his chest, and he readies his feet for a push that never comes. Your fingers bunch around the fabric of his shirt.

The lift slows to a thumping stop, opening to the lobby area, and you wait until the couple steps off first before following after them at a safe distance.

As you walk through the grand, sleepy space, he glimpses from the corner of his eye at your restless fingers toying at your shirt. He places a reassuring hand at the small of your back, rubbing his thumb along your spine.

Stepping out into the typical April night air, you lead him to where you’ve parked your car. As you disengage the lock, he huddles against you again, pressing your back against the door. Your eyes meet his and whatever you see softens your expression into something akin to tenderness as a hand cups his face.

His eyes flutter. “What can I do to convince you to come back up?”

The smile you give him is nothing short of comforting after a trying night of tumultuous emotions. “You can call me the next time you’re in town.”

“You’re impossible.”

You laugh, and he wants so badly to press a hand to your chest and feel it vibrate against his palm the way he used to taste it against his lips. Instead, he pulls your hand from his cheek down to his own chest, letting you feel what the gorgeous sound does to his heart.

He would stand here with you until the sun comes up and ask for more time, but you were right; it’s getting late, and he doesn’t want to risk you getting hurt because of his selfishness. “You okay to drive?”

“Yeah.”

Taking a step back to allow room for you, he opens the door and sneaks in one last kiss before you slip in. He bends at the waist. “Be safe.” _Love you_.

“You too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I usually write from Reader’s perspective so let me know if you enjoyed reading from Chris’!
> 
> If you want to participate in the challenge or simply send me prompts, join **[my discord server](https://discord.gg/8nbc6Rw)** (note: you’ll need to create an account). There’s also a bunch of other fun stuff like Six Sentence Sundays and exclusive content, and for writers there are channels hosting fic discussions and tips, and a place to link your work for feedback.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback any time you read it, including:
> 
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